CHAPTER II. THE HOUSE OF YULE

‘I THINK’ SAID JASPER, AS he entered the room where his mother and Maud were busy with plain needlework, ‘I must have met Alfred Yule and his daughter.’

‘How did you recognise them?’ Mrs Milvain inquired.

‘I passed an old buffer and a pale-faced girl whom I know by sight at the British Museum. It wasn’t near Yule’s house, but they were taking a walk.’

‘They may have come already. When Miss Harrow was here last, she said “in about a fortnight."‘

‘No mistaking them for people of these parts, even if I hadn’t remembered their faces. Both of them are obvious dwellers in the valley of the shadow of books.’

‘Is Miss Yule such a fright then?’ asked Maud.

‘A fright! Not at all. A good example of the modern literary girl. I suppose you have the oddest old-fashioned ideas of such people. No, I rather like the look of her. Simpatica, I should think, as that ass Whelpdale would say. A very delicate, pure complexion, though morbid; nice eyes; figure not spoilt yet. But of course I may be wrong about